through the streets. Pillars of flame flashed through the sky with each chime. The bells reverberated through the earth, and James clung to a tree, barely staying on his feet.
Elise slashed and stabbed, as light in her hiking boots as she could have been in toe shoes. She was locked in adagio with slavering grotesques. Ballon, aplomb, allongé —James’s former students would have been envious to see it, if not for the splattering blood.
People shrieked and fled. James wanted to tell them to go inside, to lock themselves where it was safe, but the sky fire and ravenous horde had driven them to mindless fear.
Children fell under the jaws of the demons. Not ten feet away, a man’s head was bashed against rocks. Elise danced to her silent andante, slicing through flesh and bone. Her swords glistened in the rain.
She climbed on top of a stall. Demons moved to follow, but James flung a page at them. Before the rain could soak it, he shouted.
A silent explosion rocked the air, knocking the demons off their feet as though the hand of God had swatted them aside. The ones still standing turned on James.
“ Ayuda !”
An old man with his face covered in blood ran down the street. He was followed by two of the grotesques, and he reached desperately for Elise. She grabbed his forearm and hauled him onto the stall. Then she leaped down, lashing out with both feet. Skulls cracked.
Magic poured from James, swelling and crashing with the flick of paper. He was a shining light in the gloom, his Book of Shadows like a brilliant star. He set fires and brought wind upon the demons.
There were too many. Dozens. Hundreds. The jungle seethed.
He flipped through his Book of Shadows, searching for a spell that could stop everything, to save the people ripped open by blunt teeth. But then the earth rocked with the eleventh bell and he was slammed against a wall. The Book flew from his arms.
A demon crashed into him. He saw a flash of bloody tongue a heartbeat before its heavy foot mashed into the side of his knee.
James heard a wet crunch. He hit the ground. The pain struck him a few seconds later.
He roared, gripping his leg. The demon fell on him, pressing more than two hundred pounds of weight upon his chest like the crush of a boulder. Its breath stank of acid.
“James!”
Teeth ripped into his sleeve. He shoved the demon off of him, but another took its place.
And then it shrieked, blood sprayed out of its severed neck, and disappeared. Elise stood over him where its face had been. He couldn’t draw enough of a breath to thank her.
She sheathed one sword before lifting. He tried to put weight on his leg and cried out. “Lean on me,” she said, pulling his arm over her shoulder.
“We can’t go—those people—the Book—”
“I’ll come back for it. Move!”
She dragged him from the village. Slowly, so slowly, they fought their way into the jungle, where the trees grew thick and the demons could not follow.
He slid to the ground with a groan.
“I think it’s dislocated. My knee. I can’t walk—can’t feel my foot—”
Elise kneeled in front of him. His leg looked crooked through the slacks. She sliced open the pant leg, and her jaw tensed when she saw the unnatural twist of his knee cap. Seeing it made the pain worse.
“I’m going to relocate it,” she said. “Try to relax.”
“Maybe we should wait—”
But she had already put both hands on his leg and twisted.
W hen the sun rose, Elise sat in the common area of the village, wiping down her blades with a soft rag. It used to be someone’s shirt, but they didn’t need it anymore, and there was something immensely cathartic about cleaning blood off her falchions.
There were more bodies this time than after the tenth hour. Shopkeepers, farmers, laborers, friends and mothers and brothers. All dead. Losing so many lives was hardly a victory. It made her tense. Her neck felt like it might never unknot.
But cleaning her blades and gently oiling the
Elise slashed and stabbed, as light in her hiking boots as she could have been in toe shoes. She was locked in adagio with slavering grotesques. Ballon, aplomb, allongé —James’s former students would have been envious to see it, if not for the splattering blood.
People shrieked and fled. James wanted to tell them to go inside, to lock themselves where it was safe, but the sky fire and ravenous horde had driven them to mindless fear.
Children fell under the jaws of the demons. Not ten feet away, a man’s head was bashed against rocks. Elise danced to her silent andante, slicing through flesh and bone. Her swords glistened in the rain.
She climbed on top of a stall. Demons moved to follow, but James flung a page at them. Before the rain could soak it, he shouted.
A silent explosion rocked the air, knocking the demons off their feet as though the hand of God had swatted them aside. The ones still standing turned on James.
“ Ayuda !”
An old man with his face covered in blood ran down the street. He was followed by two of the grotesques, and he reached desperately for Elise. She grabbed his forearm and hauled him onto the stall. Then she leaped down, lashing out with both feet. Skulls cracked.
Magic poured from James, swelling and crashing with the flick of paper. He was a shining light in the gloom, his Book of Shadows like a brilliant star. He set fires and brought wind upon the demons.
There were too many. Dozens. Hundreds. The jungle seethed.
He flipped through his Book of Shadows, searching for a spell that could stop everything, to save the people ripped open by blunt teeth. But then the earth rocked with the eleventh bell and he was slammed against a wall. The Book flew from his arms.
A demon crashed into him. He saw a flash of bloody tongue a heartbeat before its heavy foot mashed into the side of his knee.
James heard a wet crunch. He hit the ground. The pain struck him a few seconds later.
He roared, gripping his leg. The demon fell on him, pressing more than two hundred pounds of weight upon his chest like the crush of a boulder. Its breath stank of acid.
“James!”
Teeth ripped into his sleeve. He shoved the demon off of him, but another took its place.
And then it shrieked, blood sprayed out of its severed neck, and disappeared. Elise stood over him where its face had been. He couldn’t draw enough of a breath to thank her.
She sheathed one sword before lifting. He tried to put weight on his leg and cried out. “Lean on me,” she said, pulling his arm over her shoulder.
“We can’t go—those people—the Book—”
“I’ll come back for it. Move!”
She dragged him from the village. Slowly, so slowly, they fought their way into the jungle, where the trees grew thick and the demons could not follow.
He slid to the ground with a groan.
“I think it’s dislocated. My knee. I can’t walk—can’t feel my foot—”
Elise kneeled in front of him. His leg looked crooked through the slacks. She sliced open the pant leg, and her jaw tensed when she saw the unnatural twist of his knee cap. Seeing it made the pain worse.
“I’m going to relocate it,” she said. “Try to relax.”
“Maybe we should wait—”
But she had already put both hands on his leg and twisted.
W hen the sun rose, Elise sat in the common area of the village, wiping down her blades with a soft rag. It used to be someone’s shirt, but they didn’t need it anymore, and there was something immensely cathartic about cleaning blood off her falchions.
There were more bodies this time than after the tenth hour. Shopkeepers, farmers, laborers, friends and mothers and brothers. All dead. Losing so many lives was hardly a victory. It made her tense. Her neck felt like it might never unknot.
But cleaning her blades and gently oiling the
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